Dear Mr Carson
by chelsie fan
Summary: Mr. Carson receives a concerning letter and travels to London meet its sender.
1. Chapter 1

_Downton Abbey, January 1926_

"Afternoon post, Mr. Carson," said Andrew as he strode into the butler's pantry and placed a stack of envelopes on the corner of Mr. Carson's desk.

"Thank you, Andrew," returned Mr. Carson, looking up from his place behind his desk.

The footman smiled, nodded, and retreated from the room.

Mr. Carson put down his pen, set aside the ledger he'd been updating, picked up the pile of post, and began sorting it: one pile for the family's correspondence, another for the staff's personal letters, and a third for household business such as bills and invoices. After the first few pieces, he came across an envelope addressed to him. The sight of it caused him to drop the rest of the items he was holding, and for a moment, he simply stared at it, dumbfounded. He recognized the sender's handwriting beyond a doubt, yet he still consulted the name on the return address to confirm the sender's identity, for this particular individual was the last person from whom he would have expected to receive correspondence.

After recovering enough of his wits to proceed, Mr. Carson seized his paper knife and slit open the envelope, having absolutely no idea what the letter inside might say. With equal measures of eagerness and trepidation, he pulled from the envelope a single piece of stationery and read the few sentences written thereon. And then he read the words again. Even after reading the letter three times, he still had no idea what to make of it. The contents of the note answered none of the burning questions swirling in his mind. Only one thing was certain: he would gladly comply with the sender's request. To that end, he tucked the letter into the breast pocket of his morning coat and rushed upstairs to find Lord Grantham, who was in the library, reading a newspaper.

"Pardon me, my lord. I hate to disturb your lordship, but it's a matter of some importance," Mr. Carson began his plea.

"No need to apologize, Carson. It's no trouble," said Lord Grantham amiably, setting aside his newspaper. But when he looked up and took in Mr. Carson's anxious expression, the earl's face showed concern. "Only you don't look quite yourself. Nothing's wrong, I hope."

"I'm … not sure, my lord. Only I received a letter this afternoon from a friend, someone whom I haven't seen in a long time … someone who apparently needs something from me, though I've no idea _what_."

"That sounds rather mysterious," commented his lordship.

"Indeed," agreed the butler. "I truly don't know what to expect."

"You're not in any danger, I hope. It's not that chap who turned up here asking for money, is it? Your former stage partner? He was an unsavory fellow, to say the least."

"No, my lord, it's not Mr. Grigg, though I've since reconciled with him and he seems to have mended his ways. No, it's … someone else. _This_ friend is … erm … well, we were quite close once, and … and I should very much like to help if I'm able."

"Yes, yes, of course, by all means. But I'm not sure what this has got to do with _me_." Lord Grantham's face was creased in confusion.

"Well, my lord, my friend is in London and cannot travel here to see me," explained Mr. Carson. "I wonder if I might be spared for a day or two so that _I_ can go _there_ instead."

The earl thought for a moment. "I don't see why not. I'll ask her ladyship, just to be certain, but I doubt she'll object. It shouldn't be a problem. When do you plan to go?"

As much as Mr. Carson would have liked leave immediately, he knew that wouldn't be practical. "Well, if it's quite convenient for your lordship and her ladyship – and with your lordship's kind permission, of course – I thought I might go early next week. I don't believe there's anything planned here at Downton that will require my presence. The staff can manage in my absence for a short time. I'll make sure everything is put in order before I go."

Lord Grantham pondered only briefly before answering, "I've no objection. Next week it is. And you should stay at the house while you're there."

"That is most kind, my lord," Mr. Carson said with a small bow of his head. "I'm grateful, indeed. I shall make the necessary arrangements. Once again, I apologize for the interruption. I'll trouble your lordship no further now, but please do tell me if Lady Grantham would prefer that I stay."

His lordship smiled reassuringly. "Of course, Carson, but I'm sure she won't mind."

Mr. Carson hurried back downstairs to his pantry, closed both doors, sat down at his desk, retrieved the letter from his pocket, and studied it once more.

 _Dear Mr. Carson,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well and happy. I expect you'll be surprised to hear from me after all this time, but I must write to you now, for I find myself in need of a friend … and a favor. I wonder whether you'll still consider me a friend, as I've neglected to send you even a short note since I've been gone. You'll recall that before I left, I promised to write to you once I was settled, to let you know that all was well, but I never kept that promise. For reasons that I shall soon explain if you'll allow me, I simply could not tell you_ _then_ _everything that I hope to say_ _now_ _._

 _Might I prevail upon you and ask for a few moments of your time to meet me? I know it's presumptuous for me to ask, and you have good reason to refuse me, but I'm relying upon your kind nature and hoping you'll forgive my prior lack of correspondence and sudden entreaty. As you must have guessed from the postmark and the return address on the envelope, I am in London. I don't know when you'll next be here in London – whether the family are planning a trip or whether Lord Grantham may send you here on business – but will you kindly inform me the next time you're coming and let me know if you can spare me some of your time? The matter I wish to discuss is better addressed in person than by letter, but my current circumstances will not allow me to travel to Downton. I'm sure you're very busy, as always, but I hope that you'll be able to slip away for a short time when next you visit the city. If you're agreeable, we can arrange to meet at a mutually convenient time and place. I would be ever so grateful._

 _I look forward to seeing you soon, Mr. Carson. Know that despite my long silence since we last saw each other, I think of you often._

 _As ever,_

 _E. Hughes_

Fearing that he might have missed some important detail, Mr. Carson read the letter twice more, searching for a clue, hoping to glean some further sliver of information. Alas, he found no hint about why Mrs. Hughes had not written to him for so long, about what she'd been doing since her departure from Downton, or about why she wanted to see him now. He would simply need to wait until their meeting for the explanation he so desperately desired. And so he withdrew from his desk drawer some writing paper and an envelope, took up his pen, and composed his reply.

 _Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

 _I was ever so pleased to receive your letter, and I shall be very happy to see you – very happy, indeed. I cannot imagine what it is that I might do for you, but I am eager to hear whatever you wish to tell me. Be assured that I shall do whatever is in my power to aid you in your need, for you are, indeed, still my friend, no matter passage of time or lapse in communication._

 _As it happens, I shall be in London on business next week. Might I recommend that we meet at the A.B.C. tea shop on the corner of London St. and Fenchurch St.* at four o'clock on Monday afternoon? Please write back and tell me whether that is convenient for you._

 _It will be good to see you again. I don't mind admitting that I have wondered and worried, and I should like to assure myself that you are well._

 _Most sincerely yours,_

 _C. Carson_

No sooner was the letter written, signed, sealed, and addressed than Mr. Carson walked into the village and delivered it personally to Mrs. Wigan at the post office, in order that it be sent on its way as quickly as possible. Then he returned to the house and attempted to go about his business as usual. He tried to occupy his hands with his usual duties; his mind, however, churned with thoughts of Mrs. Hughes. He could scarcely concentrate enough even to accomplish a task as mindless and mundane as polishing some silver. He had no idea how he would manage to endure the next several days until his curiosity could be satisfied and his worry alleviated … or – God forbid! – amplified.

 **A/N *According to my research, A.B.C. tea shops were common in London at this time, and there was, in fact, an A.B.C. tea shop at the corner of London Street and Fenchurch Street. J. Lyons tea rooms or "Corner Houses," with their characteristic "Nippy" waitresses, were common also, but they were slightly more upscale. While Mr. Carson himself might be comfortable at a middle-class establishment, at this point in the story, he doesn't really know what Mrs. Hughes's situation is, so he chooses a place where he hopes she'll be comfortable. (I can't tell you how many hours I spent learning about historic tea shops in London, but the time I spent was far longer than can be good for me.)**

 **Anyway, this is a story that I've been working on for longer than I'd care to admit. I'd been hoping to finish it or at least to be farther along before I started posting, but the story has been sitting and languishing for too long, and so I thought I'd start posting because interaction with readers usually provides good impetus for me to keep moving forward. Please let me know what you think. As I say, I'm hoping that discussion with all of you will help provide the inspiration and motivation for future chapters. While large portions are already written and I do know where we're headed, there's still plenty of work to be done. Reviews and comments are greatly appreciated. Thanks in advance.**

 **Special thanks go out to evitamockingbird, who looked this over for me and kindly indulged me by engaging in helpful discussion, and more special thanks go out to GeordieLass, who also helped me with several questions and some other speculation.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thank you for your warm response to the first chapter. You're all very kind. Special shout-out to my guest reviewers, whom I can't thank via PM.**

Having spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening agitated and distracted, Mr. Carson was now making his final rounds downstairs, still agitated and distracted. The former housekeeper filled his mind and his heart as he performed his series of checks. As he'd written in his reply to her, he had indeed been wondering and worrying. He thought of Mrs. Hughes often, and as he passed the servants' hall near the end of his circuit, his mind settled on the first serious conversation he'd ever had with her.

 _November 1895_

 _Mr. Carson had just completed the last of his work for the night, so he put away his account books and ledgers and tidied up his office. After lighting a candle, he extinguished the flame from the oil lamp on his desk, left his pantry, and closed and locked the door behind him. He headed towards the back door, intending to check the lock, when he noticed a dim light emanating from the servants' hall. He'd thought everyone else had gone up to bed, but evidently he'd been wrong. Upon investigating, he found Elsie Hughes, the new head housemaid, who had been at Downton only a few weeks. She sat at the table with a candle and a book in front of her, but the book was closed._

" _Elsie?" said Mr. Carson, quietly, trying not to startle her. "What are you doing down here so late? Shouldn't you be upstairs asleep?" He spoke gently. Normally, he would scold any subordinate whom he found up and about so late, but somehow, he couldn't find it in his heart to be stern with this young woman, who was certainly causing no trouble. He didn't know her well, but he knew she was a dependable, diligent worker, and she struck him as a good person, as well. Mrs. Davies, the housekeeper, certainly spoke highly of her._

" _Oh! I'm sorry, Mr. Carson. I'll go up soon," Elsie told him. "Only I need a few moments to … well, to ponder something. In a busy house like this, with so much activity, it's difficult to think sometimes. It's never quiet and calm until everyone's gone to bed."_

" _True enough," he conceded. "I'll leave you to it, then. But don't stay up too much longer; else you'll be tired tomorrow."_

" _I won't, Mr. Carson. Thank you. Good night."_

" _Good night, Elsie."_

 _But after Mr. Carson ensured that the back door was secured and all of the fires downstairs were safely banked, Elsie was still sitting in the servants' hall, looking unsettled. Concerned that something might be wrong, he stood in the doorway for a moment before stepping into the room._

" _Elsie, I don't mean to intrude," he began. "I'll leave you alone if you wish, but … "_

" _No, please. Stay. I don't mind. In fact, I would welcome your company," she told him._

 _He hesitated. "Only if you're sure … "_

 _She nodded her head and smiled at him. "I'm sure."_

 _He set his candle on the table and settled himself into the chair next to hers, and the two sat in silence for a time._

" _Is something troubling you, Elsie? Are you unhappy here?" Mr. Carson asked after a moment, concerned for the young woman's welfare._

 _She seemed surprised at his question. "Heavens, no! I'm quite content," she insisted._

" _Then, is it something else?" he wondered._

 _Elsie sighed. "Perhaps I'm_ _ **too**_ _happy here."_

 _His brow creased in confusion. "How is that a problem?"_

" _Well, it wouldn't be, normally … But in this case, I'm afraid my happiness has caused someone else to be_ _ **un**_ _happy."_

" _I'm sorry. I don't follow."_

 _She took a slow breath and began to explain. "Before I came here, I was walking out with a farmer. When I told him I'd taken this job, he asked me to marry him. I told him I'd consider his proposal. But I've done well here, and I'm happy. I don't want to leave. So … when I met him in the village tonight to give him my answer, I told him no."_

" _Oh, I see," said Mr. Carson, not knowing what else to say. He thought for a moment before continuing, "Well, I'm sorry it's upsetting you, but I'm pleased to know you'll be staying. You've done well. Mrs. Davies tells me you show great promise, and … well, we're both quite hopeful for your future here."_

 _She gave him a grateful smile. "Well, thank you for that, Mr. Carson," she said. "It's good to hear."_

 _He smiled back and nodded._

 _After a brief period of silence, Elsie asked, "What about you, Mr. Carson? Have you ever thought of marriage?"_

 _He waxed wistful for a moment. He would otherwise be reluctant to speak of such personal matters, but Elsie had just confided in him. Somehow, he felt at ease with her, and he answered candidly. "Perhaps I did, once … when I was younger. But not now. I've chosen a life in service, and I'm content with my lot."_

 _She paused to consider for a moment before replying, "Yes, I think I can understand that. I'm beginning to feel the same way. I'm sorry to have hurt my friend, but I think I've made the correct choice."_

" _I'm sure you have," Mr. Carson offered sympathetically._

 _Neither spoke for a time, but then Elsie reached for her candle and her book. "I should be going now. Thank you for the chat, Mr. Carson. I'm sorry to have bothered you with my troubles."_

" _Nonsense. It's no bother," he reassured her. "I like to be sure my staff are all happy here."_

 _Elsie bade him good night, took her candle and book, and left him at the servants' table, where he remained for a few minutes, thinking about the new head housemaid. He was pleased to have discovered that she was serious and determined in her chosen path. He'd already suspected as much, even without this new information, but the fact that she'd turned down a marriage proposal in order to remain in service spoke volumes about the young woman's character – and her prospects for advancement._

 _Mr. Carson was well aware that old Mrs. Davies was getting on, and he suspected that she would retire within a few years. He entertained the notion that it would be preferable, logically and practically, to find her replacement within Downton's ranks rather than to look elsewhere. The new head housemaid impressed him, and if Elsie continued to acquit herself as well as she had already, he would have no qualms at all in supporting her as Mrs. Davies's successor. With that thought in mind, he snatched up his candle and headed upstairs to bed._

Standing in the same servants' hall tonight, Mr. Carson recalled how that conversation had convinced him of the young woman's value. He and Mrs. Davies had been correct in their assessment, and after the elderly housekeeper retired a few years later, a young Elsie, thereafter called Mrs. Hughes, had stepped in smoothly, as if she had been born to the position. She'd spent nearly the next two decades working by Mr. Carson's side, supporting him both professionally and personally. During that time, the two had become good friends. They'd worked together flawlessly, happily, and he'd come to expect that they would continue to do so for many years thereafter, presumably until his death. (As he was several years older than she was, he'd naturally imagined predeceasing her.) He'd been incorrect in that assumption, however; for it was not his death but her departure from Downton in 1913 that had severed their working partnership.

But tonight, after the distressing events of the day and the turmoil that Mrs. Hughes's letter had caused him, Mr. Carson was far too weary to dwell on her leaving, and he tried to console himself with the prospect of seeing her again in a few days' time. He finished turning out the lights, damping the fires, and checking the doors, then headed upstairs to his bed, destined for a fitful night's slumber.

 **A/N All of the questions you asked in your reviews will be addressed over the next few chapters. The upcoming chapters will be a few flashbacks, telling bits and pieces of the story of Mr. Carson's relationship with Mrs. Hughes while she was at Downton, leading up to the details of the circumstances under which she left. After that, we'll travel to London with Mr. Carson to meet Mrs. Hughes in the tea shop, and we'll find out what Mrs. Hughes has been doing since she left. Finally, we'll see what happens after they're reunited in the "present time" of this story, or 1926. (And to be perfectly honest with you, I myself am not sure what will happen in 1926. That part isn't written or even planned out yet.)**

 **Thank you again for your interest in this story. Please review if you're able. Your kind encouragement energizes me so that I can continue writing.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I'm sorry I didn't get this posted on Sunday, but this is my very late contribution to Week 4 of the Unofficial DA S9. Thank you so much for all the previous reviews and kind words. Thanks for sticking with me this far.**

The next morning, when Mr. Carson woke and glanced at the letter on his bedside table, he wondered once again at the mysterious nature of the missive, and he worried about the well-being of its sender. He thought of nothing else as he readied himself for the day and then made his way downstairs.

On the way to his pantry, he stopped in the kitchen to greet Mrs. Patmore and Daisy. Despite the early hour, things seemed already to be going badly for the two women. Mrs. Patmore was grumbling that some of the supplies from the home farm were not up to their usual standards, and Daisy was displeased with her own efforts at a new dish she was attempting to make for the servants' breakfast. Mr. Carson thought it wise not to linger any longer than necessary, and so after a brief exchange, he hastened to his pantry.

He turned the lights on and stoked the fire, making a mental note to compliment the hall boy who had started it for him. Then he picked up the small watering can on the table beneath the window and sprinkled just the right amount of water on his plant, which, he noted with pride, was thriving. If his thoughts hadn't already been occupied by the former housekeeper, his aspidistra certainly would have sent them in that direction as he recalled how he had acquired the plant so many years ago.

 _September 1898_

 _Mr. Carson stood in front of the silver cupboard, putting away the pieces he'd just finished polishing when Mrs. Hughes appeared at his open door._

" _Hello, Mr. Carson," she greeted him. "I've brought you something. May I come in?"_

" _Yes, of course," he told her, glancing over his shoulder at her as he finished placing the last items and closed and locked the doors. "What have you got there, Mrs. Hughes?"_

 _By the time he turned around, she was already standing at the little table underneath his window._

" _It's a plant," she explained as she shifted some objects on the table to make more room and carefully positioned the pot she was carrying. "It's called an 'aspidistra*.'"_

" _A plant? But … why?" he wondered, quite confused. "Do you mean for it to_ _ **stay**_ _… in_ _ **here**_ _?"_

" _That was my intention in bringing it to you, yes," she replied with only a trace of impatience … but considerably more than a trace of impertinence. "I thought it might brighten things up for you … add a bit of warmth and cheer," she continued. "You must admit: this room is rather … austere."_

" _This room is perfectly suited to its purpose," he argued. "I hardly think a butler's pantry is an appropriate location for flowers! It's one thing for you to have flowers in your sitting room, but – "_

 _Mrs. Hughes clicked her tongue and shook her head at him. "Mr. Carson, it's not 'flowers.' It's a plant. It's got green leaves, and that's all. If it ever yields flowers – and often these plants don't – the flowers will be right at the base, near the soil, and they'll be dark red or brown. There's nothing frilly or delicate about an aspidistra. His lordship's got one just like it in the small library."_

" _But how will it survive? It's quite dark in here, as you know. The window faces north, so the sun never shines through directly. I won't remember to give it water; I wouldn't even know how much or how often. And it can get quite cold in here at night in the winter," he argued._

" _You needn't worry. This plant is virtually indestructible," she assured him. "It needs very little sunlight and water, and it can tolerate both cold and heat. In fact, for that very reason, it's sometimes called the 'cast iron plant.'"_

" _But what about the fragrance?" Mr. Carson worried. "I can't have it smelling like her ladyship's dressing table in here."_

" _There's no scent at all. It's very unobtrusive. It simply sits there. Nothing more."_

" _Mrs. Hughes, I have neither the time nor the disposition to be minding a plant!" he told her firmly._

 _She huffed in frustration. "I'm well aware of that fact, Mr. Carson … which is why_ _ **I**_ _shall tend to it for you," promised Mrs. Hughes. "It's no trouble for me to come in and give it some water now and then. I don't expect you to care for it; you need only enjoy its presence. I've got a fern in my sitting room, and I can tell you: having a bit of nature indoors does help to keep things from becoming too dreary down here."_

 _But he was still skeptical. "I'm not entirely sure it's suitable."_

" _Oh, give it a chance," she persisted. "Let me leave it here for a few days, and then we'll see how you feel about. If you still don't like it, I'll take it away."_

" _Oh, very well," Mr. Carson agreed grudgingly – but only because he had exhausted all sensible arguments against the plant in question._

 _oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

 _A week later, when Mrs. Hughes came into Mr. Carson's pantry in the evening for a chat and some of the family's leftover wine, he was waiting for her in his usual chair, engrossed in a book._

" _What are you reading, Mr. Carson? Anything interesting?" she asked as she took the seat next to him._

 _He looked up at her. "Hmm? Oh, it's nothing. Only a book. Nothing very exciting." He closed the book and set it aside on his little table._

" _What sort of book is it?" she wanted to know._

" _Oh, it's a … scientific … erm … reference manual. Nothing terribly fascinating," he told her while handing her one of the two glasses of wine he'd already poured for them._

 _She accepted the wine with a grateful nod and took a drink. Then she lifted the book he'd just set down and held it up to see the title._

"' _The Care of House Plants'!" she read aloud, smirking. "Why, Mr. Carson! Do you now intend to become a gardener and turn this room into a conservatory?"_

" _Not at all, Mrs. Hughes. My current occupation keeps me quite busy enough, thank you. Only … I thought that if I must have the aspidistra, I ought to know how to tend to it. I know that you offered to do it, but you've enough work of your own without also minding my plant. I'm sure I can find the time to look after it myself. After all, as you say, it doesn't require much attention. Of course, I'll have to ask you to care for it when I'm gone during the Season."_

" _Naturally. I'll be happy to see to your plant whenever you're away."_

" _Thank you." He nodded and took a sip of his wine._

" _Certainly." She returned his nod, smiling, and sipped her own wine. "So you've come round to it, then? Grown fond of it?"_

" _Oh, I wouldn't say that, Mrs. Hughes. Not 'fond,' exactly. I've grown accustomed to it. And I agree with you that it lends a certain … Well, its presence does make for a pleasant atmosphere."_

" _Well, then. I propose a toast," offered Mrs. Hughes, holding up her glass. "To cheer and warmth and a pleasant atmosphere."_

" _Indeed," agreed Mr. Carson. He held up his glass as well, and they both drank._

 _For the next half-hour, they chatted about household business, village affairs, national issues, and the weather. When it grew late, Mrs. Hughes bade Mr. Carson good night and left him to close up his pantry. He dealt with the wine decanter and glasses expeditiously, but before he locked up his pantry for the night, he took his book from the table, intending to continue reading it upstairs in his bedroom, and he paused to regard his new plant. Yes, he decided upon consideration, perhaps he could tolerate a plant in his pantry after all._

"Cheer and warmth and a pleasant atmosphere," Mr. Carson mumbled to himself as he came out of his reverie, and the thought gave him an idea. He hurried into the housekeeper's sitting room, which now stood vacant since Mrs. Wilson's sudden disappearance the previous week, and studied the ferns on the shelves. After Mrs. Hughes's departure, he'd adopted her fern and propagated it. Now, he had four smaller plants in addition to her original one. It was generally understood that the ferns in the housekeeper's sitting room fell under the care of the butler, and none of Mrs. Hughes's successors ever questioned why he came into the room every few days to look after the plants. But today, he removed two of the smaller pots and carried them to the kitchen.

He stood hesitantly in the doorway, assessing the atmosphere. Mrs. Patmore was hunched over the stove, and Daisy was mixing something on the counter. Though both were quiet and the situation seemed a bit calmer than it had been earlier, Mr. Carson sensed that the tension had not completely dissipated.

Clearing his throat to alert the women to his presence, he began, "Mrs. Patmore? Daisy?"

They both turned from what they were doing to look in his direction.

"What's that, then, Mr. Carson?" asked Mrs. Patmore when she noticed the plants.

"I, erm … I wondered if perhaps you might have a place for these ferns somewhere in here? You see, the older plants keep growing too large, and I have to separate them into new pots, and … well, now I have too many. If you'd be so kind as to take these two off my hands, I'd be most grateful."

"Potted plants?!" cried Mrs. Patmore. "Oh, I don't know about that. This is a kitchen, not a glasshouse! We've hardly enough room here as it is … and I wouldn't know how to care for them … and I haven't even got the time for them, really … "

"Oh, but look," said Mr. Carson, already walking across the room. "I'll put them on the shelf right here, off to the side. They won't be in your way at all. And I'll be happy to look after them for you. All they need is a little water now and then."

"Well, _I_ think they're very nice," Daisy interjected, already warming to the idea. "And _I'll_ look after them. Would you teach me how to tend to them, Mr. Carson? I'd like to learn."

"I'd be happy to, Daisy, if you'd like," said the butler. Then he turned to the senior cook. "Mrs. Patmore? What do you say? Is it all right?"

"Oh, go on, then," Mrs. Patmore relented with a roll of her eyes and a sigh. "I suppose it won't do any harm."

Mr. Carson smiled at his small triumph as he carefully arranged the ferns on the shelf. Then he stood back and nodded in satisfaction. "There we are. Very nice," he declared. "I think they lend a certain air of cheeriness, don't you? Especially during these gloomy winter days."

"If you say so," Mrs. Patmore allowed, shrugging noncommittally from her place at the stove.

"Oh, I do like them there, Mr. Carson," the younger woman offered.

"They don't need any water today," he told her, "but the next time they do, I'll come back and show you what to do."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," said Daisy, grinning happily.

He left the two cooks to their work and returned to his pantry to set to work on his ledgers. By the time the servants' breakfast was served, both Daisy and Mrs. Patmore were in better spirits, due in large part, Mr. Carson believed, to the presence of the ferns. He marveled at the fact that nearly thirteen years after leaving Downton, Mrs. Hughes's influence in the house was still strong, and she unknowingly still succeeded in making its inhabitants – including Mr. Carson himself – just that much happier. Now, if only he could be sure that _she_ was happy right now …

 **A/N *An aspidistra is exactly as Mrs. Hughes described: virtually indestructible. The Victorians realized that it was well suited to be a hardy house plant in almost any conditions: heat or cold, humidity or dryness, bright light or shadows, and even poor air quality. And for that reason, it gained popularity.**

 **So while this chapter doesn't answer any questions about why Mrs. Hughes left or what she's been doing, it gives a little insight into the relationship between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. And yes, you may notice a few slight similarities to another story about a butler and a housekeeper. I promise this one will have a more satisfying ending.**

 **Please drop me a line in a review if you can. Thanks in advance.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N This is the second chapter posted in less than two days (pretty atypical for me), so if you haven't read the previous one, please go back and do that. Thank you so much for all your support. Special nod to guest reviewers, to whom I can't send personal notes.**

That evening, when Mr. Carson came back downstairs after serving the family's dinner, Mrs. Patmore called out to him. "Mr. Carson, have you seen Miss Baxter?" she wanted to know.

"It's her half day," Mr. Carson informed the cook. "She's gone to have dinner with Mr. Molesley and his father. Do you need her?"

"Oh. Well, I've sent Daisy to bed. The poor girl's coming down with something, and I wanted to ask Miss Baxter to take her a tray. I'd do it myself, but I must get the servants' dinner on the table. Is Anna available?" asked Mrs. Patmore.

"I believe Lady Mary sent her home early with the baby."

"Oh."

"Well, Andrew is upstairs serving drinks, and so I'm not needed at the moment. I could do it for you," offered Mr. Carson.

Mrs. Patmore looked at him uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course. I don't mind. I'm sorry to hear Daisy's not well, and I'd like to help."

"All right, then. Thank you."

The cook put a few things on a tray for her ailing assistant, and Mr. Carson climbed the stairs to the women's quarters to deliver them. He found Daisy's room and rapped lightly on the door.

"Yes?" came a weak voice from within.

He cleared his throat before calling softly, "Daisy? It's Mr. Carson. I've brought you a tray. May I come in?"

"Oh! Mr. Carson? Yes, come in," the girl managed.

He opened the door to find the young girl lying in bed and looking miserable.

"Oh, my dear girl," he said, setting the tray down. "You don't look well."

"I don't _feel_ well, either," she told him.

"Here. Let's make you more comfortable." He helped her to adjust her pillow and blankets.

"Thank you," she said.

"Do you think you might eat something? If I take this tray back down with nothing gone from it, Mrs. Patmore will have my skin."

"And mine, too, probably," said the young girl with a tiny smile. "I'll try a few bites, at least."

He helped Daisy to sit up and then set the tray on her lap. She ate enough of the food to placate Mrs. Patmore, but she grew tired before she finished it all. He fluffed her pillow, tucked her blankets around her, and said, "Now rest, my girl. I'm sure Mrs. Patmore will check on you again when she comes up to bed."

The girl was barely able to mutter her thanks before she nodded off. Mr. Carson gathered up the tray and its contents, turned off the light, and headed back downstairs.

"How is she?" asked Mrs. Patmore when Mr. Carson returned with the half-empty tray.

"Weak and tired, but she's resting comfortably now," he reported.

"Good. I'll check on her when I go up. Thank you for doing that. I'm sorry no one else was available."

"Oh, that's all right. I don't mind."

"Now, everyone else has eaten while you've been upstairs, but I've put your dinner aside and kept it warm. Would you like to take it in your pantry?" the cook asked.

"Yes, I think I would, thank you."

"Go on, then, and I'll bring it to you."

The butler retreated to his pantry and sat down at his desk, thinking about the events of the evening. As usual, his thoughts wandered to Mrs. Hughes. Tonight, he had ventured into the women's quarters to care for one of his young charges, but there was a time when he would never even have considered doing such a thing. Fortunately, a dear friend had once taught him that compassion is a higher virtue than propriety, and he was now a better man for having learned the lesson. While he waited for dinner, he recalled the occasion on which he was the beneficiary of such compassion.

 _January 1900_

 _Mr. Carson sat in his bed, in his nightshirt, in the middle of the day, having been banished to his quarters by an insistent housekeeper. He hadn't acquiesced easily, but he couldn't refute her argument that by continuing to work – or even just to place himself anywhere_ _ **near**_ _others in his contagious state – he would risk his infecting the other staff members and the family. Truth be told, he_ _ **wasn't**_ _feeling his usual self, and his weakened condition probably had contributed to his inability to muster more resistance than he had._

 _As he sat looking over some ledgers he'd brought with him from his pantry, a knock sounded at his door. Presuming it was one of his footmen bringing him his lunch tray, he called, "Come in." But he was mistaken in his presumption, for it was not a footman but the housekeeper who entered, carrying his tray. Upon registering the identity – and thereby the_ _ **gender**_ _– of his visitor, he dropped his ledger on the bed next to him and pulled his sheet and blanket up to his neck._

" _Mrs. Hughes!" he cried. "What are you doing here?"_

" _As you see, Mr. Carson," she said, tilting her head down towards the tray she was holding, "I've brought you some soup and bread, along with some medicine* for your cold."_

" _But – but – surely one of the footmen … or a hall boy … " stammered Mr. Carson._

" _Your footmen are all busy completing the tasks you assigned them, and I doubt a hall boy could have climbed all those stairs without tipping the tray."_

" _But … is it appropriate for_ _ **you**_ _to be here?" he asked, thoroughly flustered._

" _I'll remind you, Mr. Carson, that the men's quarters are not new territory for me. You'll recall that even when I was head housemaid, I helped to clean these rooms. And now that I'm housekeeper, I_ _ **supervise**_ _the maids who clean them. I_ _ **have been**_ _in this room before, you realize. In fact, I visit regularly to check my girls' work."_

" _But never when_ _ **I'm present**_ _! In my_ _ **bed**_ _! Wearing my_ _ **nightclothes**_ _!"_

" _Mr. Carson, I appreciate your concern for my modesty. But I assure you, I'm made of stern stuff. I'm neither shocked nor scandalized to see you wearing something slightly more comfortable than your livery," Mrs. Hughes responded with a hint of a smirk._

" _But perhaps_ _ **I'm**_ _shocked and scandalized_ _ **to be seen**_ _in such a state!" he said indignantly but perfectly truthfully._

" _Well, I daresay we'll both survive the ordeal!" she replied, her irritation becoming evident as she set the tray down on his night table with considerable force. "Now, then. I'll leave this here for you. Once you've eaten your lunch, take one spoonful of this elixir … and I should warn you: it's not very pleasant-tasting. You'll want to save some of your water to wash it down. Now, I must be getting on, but before I leave, is there anything else you require?"_

" _Erm … no, thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I'm fine," he replied weakly._

" _Very well. Then, I shall excuse myself. And I shall send_ _ **one of the lads**_ _to collect your tray. Goodbye, Mr. Carson. I do hope you're feeling better soon," she told him as she turned on her heel and flounced out of the room._

 _As the afternoon wore on, Mr. Carson felt worse, both in body and in spirit. His head, neck, and limbs ached with fever, but his heart, too, ached with guilt over his ungrateful response to Mrs. Hughes's kindness. And so when a footman came to collect his tray, he told the lad to ask Mrs. Hughes to come back to his room if she could spare a moment. He knew he wouldn't rest easy until he apologized. It wasn't long before the unfortunate target of his previous foul humor rapped gently on his door._

" _Mr. Carson?" she called quietly from outside the closed door. "It's Mrs. Hughes."_

" _Oh. Yes. Come in, please," he said._

" _Are you certain? Only … earlier, you said – " she began._

 _But he interrupted her, not wanting to dwell on his prior foolishness and ingratitude. "Yes, I know what I said earlier. But I was wrong. Do come in, Mrs. Hughes - please," he entreated earnestly._

 _She opened the door and entered, carrying another tray, this time with some water and some headache powder. She stood just inside the door, apparently uneasy, perhaps expecting to be chastised again as she had been earlier. "Timothy said you looked quite poorly when he came for your tray," she explained. "I've brought you some more water and a headache powder*. Shall I leave it on your table?"_

" _Yes, please. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Won't you sit down for a moment?" he asked, gesturing towards the small upholstered chair next to his bed. Mr. Carson's breathing was labored, and any speech or movement required painful effort._

" _Only if you're certain it won't make you uncomfortable," she said, placing the tray on his bedside table._

" _I_ _ **am**_ _uncomfortable, and I shall remain so until I apologize for my behavior," he said weakly._

 _But before Mrs. Hughes sat down, she noticed how much worse Mr. Carson seemed to be. "Oh, dear! Mr. Carson, you really do look unwell." She reached out and touched his forehead. "And you feel rather warm to me. Here. Let me … erm – " And she looked around his room until she spotted a cloth, a pitcher of water, and a basin on his dresser. Quickly crossing to the dresser, she seized all three items and carried them to his bedside table. After pouring some water from the pitcher into the basin, she dampened the cloth, settled herself in a chair next to his bed, and began to apply the wet cloth gently to his face and neck._

" _Mrs. Hughes," he rasped with some difficulty. "I'm very sorry … "_

" _Shhhh," she shushed him. "Don't try to talk." She mixed the headache powder into a glass of water and handed the mixture to him. "Here. Drink this. It should help."_

 _He sat up and drank it obediently but grimaced at the unpleasant taste. Then he handed Mrs. Hughes the empty glass, which she set aside, and he lay back down on his pillow._

" _Now, try to rest, Mr. Carson, and you'll feel better," she said as she continued to dab the damp cloth on his forehead and cheeks._

 _Soon, Mr. Carson drifted off to sleep. It was not a restful slumber, but lying half-asleep, even uncomfortably so, was far better than sitting uncomfortably awake, and he was grateful for the relief that such rest provided._

 _The next two days were hazy for Mr. Carson. He was vaguely aware of feeling achy in his limbs and congested in his head and chest; and he felt alternately warm and cold. He was dimly cognizant of Mrs. Hughes's soothing presence. She came to his room often, bringing him medicine, food, and water. She also mopped his brow when he was feverish, speaking in soothing tones as she did so, and she placed some vile-smelling poultice* on his chest. The aroma was most unpleasant, but he was too weak to object to the treatment, and soon the vapors from the poultice had a beneficial effect, relieving much of his congestion and easing his cough. His only other visitor during that time was Timothy, who helped him to walk to and from the bathroom when he was too weak to manage on his own._

 _By the third day, Mr. Carson had improved considerably, thanks to Mrs. Hughes's kind ministrations. He was still not well enough to leave his room, but he was feeling strong enough to sit up and read the newspaper and to talk with Mrs. Hughes._

" _I'm so glad you're feeling better, Mr. Carson," she told him that afternoon as she sat by his bedside, taking tea with him. "We all were worried. I was ready to send Timothy to fetch the doctor, but then you came round."_

" _Well, I'm glad it wasn't necessary to trouble the good doctor." He paused for a moment to look at her gravely. "Mrs. Hughes, I owe you an apology. You've been nothing but kind to me, and I'm afraid haven't shown you the gratitude you deserve. I do appreciate your efforts and your patience with me. I must admit now that you were right: none of the footmen or hall boys would have been so solicitous. I'm sorry … and I thank you."_

 _But his kind benefactress readily dismissed any blame. "Think nothing of it, Mr. Carson. You weren't feeling quite yourself. It's not surprising for a man to be less agreeable when he's ill."_

" _A poor excuse for incivility, but I'm grateful for your pardon."_

" _We'll say no more about it. I was happy to help. Now, do you think you feel well enough to discuss the arrangements for Lady Rosamund and Mr. Painswick's visit, or shall we wait until tomorrow?"_

" _Well, I hope to be back downstairs actually_ _ **working**_ _again by tomorrow. But for now, I think I can manage to talk about the accommodations for our guests."_

 _The butler and housekeeper spent some time speaking about household business, and when they were finished conferring, Mrs. Hughes took the tray with the tea things and excused herself. Mr. Carson spent the rest of the day recuperating, and as he predicted, he was indeed well enough to return to work the next day._

Mrs. Patmore's knock drew him from his musings.

"Come in, Mrs. Patmore," he said.

The cooked entered and set his tray on his desk. "Here you are."

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. It smells wonderful."

"And I've saved you the largest piece of treacle tart," she told him.

"I see that." He chuckled at the enormous slice on his tray. "It looks delicious."

"Thank you again for seeing to Daisy's tray."

"Oh, it was nothing," he demurred. "Are you finished down here? Why don't you go on up? I'll take care of my tray and my dishes when I'm done."

"Well, I wouldn't mind popping in on Daisy, but you shouldn't have to do the washing up."

"It won't kill me to wash a plate, a bowl, a glass, and some silverware. Now, go on." He made a gentle shooing motion with his hand.

"Good night, Mr. Carson."

"Good night."

And before Mrs. Patmore had closed the door behind her, Mr. Carson had already tucked into his dinner.

 **A/N I've done some research about what types of cold remedies were used around the turn of the century, and it seems that powdered aspirin became available to the public at about this time, at first only with a doctor's prescription and then over the counter. Poultices containing various aromatic substances (some of them pleasant-smelling; others not so much) were also used to help clear head and chest congestion. Various elixirs were employed, too, to combat coughs and other symptoms.**

 **This chapter is just a little more background, and it's meant to show the softening effect Mrs. Hughes has had on Mr. Carson during their time together. I know it still doesn't answer all your questions, but we're getting there, I promise.**

 **Thank you for continuing to read and for reviewing if and when you're able. I know I say it all the time, but your reviews really are important to me.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Thank you so much for all of the kind comments. I appreciate the reviews. I'm sorry it's been so long since the last update. I offer no excuses, only a legitimate reason: life has been very busy, and there's no way around it. I do appreciate all of the nice requests for more of this story, and I'm pleased to be able finally to have something for you.**

The next morning, as he was dressing in his room, Mr. Carson frowned. The seam at the shoulder of his morning coat was coming apart. He'd have to mend it. Fortunately, he did have a few minutes to spare. It was, of course, his habit to rise and ready himself early enough to allow time for such unforeseen delays. As he gathered his sewing supplies and sat down on his bed to mend his torn garment, his mind drifted away from the tasks of the day ahead, wandering instead in the direction of days past.

 _November 1905_

 _Mr. Carson had just returned from an errand in the village and was removing his overcoat. "Blast!" he cried as one of its buttons fell to the ground at his feet. He hung the coat on a hanger on the back of his pantry door, and as he bent to retrieve the button, Mrs. Hughes appeared at the other door to his pantry, which he'd left open._

" _You're back, then. Is everything all right?" she asked. "You were gone longer than I thought you'd be."_

 _He stood and turned to greet her, still holding the errant button. "Yes, well, unfortunately, there's been a problem with our order, and it's been delayed. Mr. Thomas says it won't be ready until Friday," he told her with some annoyance._

" _Well, that's certainly inconvenient, but I daresay we'll manage," she said soothingly._

" _I suppose we must," he said with a resigned sigh. "Everything all right here?"_

" _Yes, all is well, only his lordship would like to see you when you've a moment."_

" _Nothing's wrong, I hope. Did he say why?" Mr. Carson worried._

" _I don't think it's anything serious," she told him. "Something about the arrangements for the shoot next week."_

" _Right. I'll go up straightaway."_

 _He set his button down on his side table and went in search of the earl._

 _That evening, after an exceptionally busy day, Mr. Carson finally had a few free minutes in which he might sew his button back onto his coat. He approached his table, expecting to find the button where he'd left it, but he was dismayed not to find it there. He looked everywhere on the surface of the table, checked the floor beneath the table, and searched the surrounding area, but the button was nowhere to be found. He huffed in frustration. Since he had no extra button to match the ones on his coat, he would need to replace them_ _ **all**_ _. He only hoped Mr. Watson* might have some suitable buttons in his sewing kit and would be willing to part with them._

 _Mr. Carson went to get his coat from its hanger, intending to remove a button so that he could show Mr. Watson and ask if he had some similar articles. But when Mr. Carson inspected the coat, he found that the button in question had already been replaced. At first, he was confused, wondering several things at once: how anyone would even know that it had come off, who it was that would be bold enough to go snooping about his pantry, and why that person would fix it for him. It didn't take him very long, however, to recall that Mrs. Hughes had been there when he lost it and to surmise that she must have been the one who replaced it for him._

 _He was decidedly uncomfortable at the thought that Mrs. Hughes had mended his clothing. It seemed a very intimate gesture, and Mr. Carson had always been determined to avoid any hint of intimacy. In his position, any closeness or personal attachment only proved a liability. It was wiser to keep his distance. He thought he should be upset with Mrs. Hughes for being so presumptuous: after all, she'd entered his pantry and disturbed his personal effects! Still, he could not find it within himself to be cross with her. She'd done him a kindness, as she had so often before. And so he obtained a few necessary items and went to her sitting room._

 _When he knocked on the frame of her open door, she turned from her desk to greet him. "Oh, Mr. Carson. Do come in."_

 _He held in his hands a decanter and two glasses. "I wonder if I might join you. Would you care for a glass of sherry?"_

 _Mrs. Hughes looked pleased at the prospect. "Why, thank you! That would be a welcome treat. Come in, and let's have a chat." She set aside her work, stood, and met him at her table, and the two sat down. Mr. Carson poured two glasses of sherry and handed one to Mrs. Hughes._

 _As they sipped their drinks companionably, he said, "I want to thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I presume it was you who sewed the button back onto my coat."_

 _She deflected his thanks with a wave of her hand. "Oh, think nothing of it, Mr. Carson. I saw that it had come off, and I knew you were busy this afternoon. I had a few minutes to spare, and so I thought I would take care of it for you. It was no trouble."_

" _Well, I'm most grateful," he told her sincerely._

 _As they continued to chat for a few minutes about household matters and about topics of personal interest, Mr. Carson reflected that he'd become better at graciously accepting Mrs. Hughes's benevolent deeds instead of responding with his usual bluster and ingratitude. He was proud of himself, and he hoped that he might also find opportunities in the future to_ _ **return**_ _her kindness._

Unfortunately for Mr. Carson, there were still occasions when he forgot the progress he'd been making and later regretted his unkind behavior.

 _September 1912_

 _Coming down from upstairs in a foul mood, Mr. Carson arrived in the servants' hall and barked, "William? Are you aware the seam at your shoulder is coming apart?"_

" _I - I felt it go a bit earlier," the poor footman admitted sheepishly. "I'll mend it when we turn in."_

" _You will mend it_ _ **now**_ _," demanded Mr. Carson, "and you will never again appear in public in a similar state of undress!"_

" _No, Mr. Carson," William replied dejectedly._

 _The butler, unable to calm himself, continued his lecture. "To progress in your chosen career, William, you must remember that a good servant at all times retains a sense of pride and dignity that reflects the pride and dignity of the family he serves. And never make me remind you of it again!" And with that, Mr. Carson left the poor lad to lick his wounds._

Fortunately for Mr. Carson, however, his lapses were usually temporary, and he almost always found ways to soften his misdeeds.

 _Later that evening, William knocked on the butler's door, and Mr. Carson called, "Come in."_

" _Mr. Carson, you wanted to see me?" said the footman._

 _Mr. Carson stood from his seat behind his desk. "Ah, William. Yes. Do come in. I wanted to speak to you about the incident earlier this evening. Have you mended your seam?"_

" _Yes, Mr. Carson. Daisy helped me. I'd have done it myself, but she insisted."_

" _That was kind of her." Mr. Carson came around his desk to inspect the repaired seam at William's shoulder. "She's done a fine job."_

" _I'm sorry about it, and it won't happen again," promised the lad._

" _I'm sure it won't," the butler said gently. He paused and looked at the younger man seriously before continuing. "William, I understand that sometimes these things happen: seams tear. But you must take care to remedy such problems at the first opportunity. You play the piano well, and everyone was enjoying your music earlier. I won't deny you that, and I won't begrudge you a few minutes of enjoyment. But it should have waited until you'd taken care of the business with your coat."_

" _Yes, Mr. Carson."_

" _You're a good worker, William, and a fast learner. You have great potential, and I want to see you succeed. You must always do your best – and_ _ **look**_ _your best. Now, I've got my eye on you, and I expect great things. I'm confident you can live up to such lofty expectations."_

 _The footman smiled slightly, understanding the trust and faith his superior was placing in him. "Yes, Mr. Carson. You can count on me."_

" _I know you won't disappoint me. Very well, then," returned Mr. Carson with a nod. "Be off with you. It's getting late."_

" _Thank you, Mr. Carson. Good night."_

" _Good night, William. Sleep well."_

Mr. Carson reluctantly relinquished his musings, finished mending the seam in his morning coat, inspected his work, deemed his efforts satisfactory, and headed downstairs to begin the day's work.

Sometime later, as he sat as his desk, taking a moment to himself and drinking a cup of tea, Andrew came into his office.

"Morning post, Mr. Carson," announced the footman.

"Thank you, Andrew," the butler replied, taking the stack of envelopes from the lad. "Is everything all right upstairs?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson. It's all well in hand. Mr. Barrow is attending his lordship right now."

"Good, good. Then go see if Mrs. Patmore and Daisy need anything. If they don't, then you're welcome to take a few minutes for yourself until you're needed again."

"Right you are. Thank you, Mr. Carson," Andrew said, and he hurried off to do as he'd been instructed.

As Mr. Carson sorted through the post, he found the very item for which he'd been anxiously waiting: a response from Mrs. Hughes. He held the envelope in his hands for only a moment before he slit it open and removed the paper within. Mrs. Hughes's reply was short, but it pleased and reassured him.

 _Dear Mr. Carson,_

 _You are entirely too kind, as you always have been. When I wrote asking you to meet me, I didn't dare to hope that you might be able to make arrangements so soon! I sincerely hope it's not too much bother; I trust you haven't inconvenienced yourself on my account._

 _I shall be very happy to join you at the tea shop on Monday afternoon. I must admit that when I wrote, I doubted whether you'd be willing or able to see me at all. And now to discover that our reunion is to occur much sooner than I could have anticipated! Well! It makes me happier than I can say to know that I shall see you again so soon._

 _I look forward to our meeting. Thank you, once again, for your kindness._

 _Ever yours,_

 _E. Hughes_

Mr. Carson sat back in his chair for a moment, staring at the note: the tangible confirmation that he would indeed be seeing Mrs. Hughes again in two days. Until recently, he'd been almost afraid to allow himself to believe he would _ever_ see her again. But now, he allowed his heart to believe, and that hopeful belief filled him with an irrepressible joy … and a resulting impatience for Monday afternoon to arrive.

 **A/N * You'll recall that Mr. Watson was Lord Grantham's valet before Mr. Bates arrived. I'm not sure whether he was around as early as 1905, but for the purposes of this chapter, I'm going to pretend that he was.**

 **I can't promise when or how frequently this story might be updated. I** _ **can**_ **promise, however, that I won't abandon it. Please review if possible. I know I say it all the time, but it matters to me. It's true: knowing that people like my writing makes me want to write more. And it's also true that I'm extremely grateful to everyone who takes the time and makes the effort to leave some comments.**

 **Oh, and I do promise we're getting to their reunion very soon. It will probably occur in the chapter after the next one or possibly the one after that.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Thank you for your continued support and patience. Special nod to my guest reviewers, to whom I can't respond personally. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update this, but as I promised last time, I won't abandon this. I just don't know how frequently I'll be able to update in the foreseeable future.**

 **Since it's been so long, here's a quick recap: It's January of 1926, and Mr. Carson has received a letter from Mrs. Hughes. She left Downton in 1913, and he hasn't heard from her in the intervening years. In the letter, Mrs. Hughes says she's now living in London, and she asks for Mr. Carson's help with something. She'd like to see him the next time he's in London, in order to ask him a favor in person. Mr. Carson asks Lord Grantham for some time off and arranges a trip to see her. Over the course of the few days before he leaves, Mr. Carson has been thinking about how much he misses Mrs. Hughes, about all the things she did to help everyone at Downton, and about all the ways in which she made him a better man during her time at Downton.**

 **And now we rejoin Mr. Carson on the eve of his reunion with Mrs. Hughes ...**

The night before his trip to London, as Mr. Carson lay in bed, his body was still, but his mind and heart were restless. Over the previous few days, he'd been reminded of Mrs. Hughes at every turn.

He'd received a letter from Ethel Parks-Bryant, who reported that she was doing quite well. Years earlier, when Ethel had come to him for help with Major Bryant's parents, he'd been reluctant at first to lend his support. After his initial hesitation, however, he'd considered that Mrs. Hughes would be disappointed in him if refused to help a desperate woman who had nowhere else to turn, and he relented. Even though Mrs. Hughes was long gone by then and might never know, his conscience had spoken to him in her voice. And so Mr. Carson had used his connections and influence to dig up some unsavory information on old Mr. Bryant. Since Mr. Bryant had been unwilling to have that information made public, he and Mrs. Bryant had agreed to acknowledge Ethel and young Charlie as Major Bryant's widow and son and had welcomed their daughter-in-law and grandson into their home. Ethel had been – and still was – immensely grateful. Mr. Carson knew that he would never have found it within him to help Ethel and the boy if Mrs. Hughes had not softened him and made him more tolerant.

He'd also had a telephone call from Charlie Grigg, who had reported that he was doing well. Likewise, had it not been for a gentle Scottish voice in his head, long after its owner had gone, Mr. Carson would never have had the compassion to reconcile with Charlie Grigg, to effect his former stage partner's release from the workhouse, and to help him find employment and a stable situation. Nor would he have involved Mrs. Crawley in the process, thereby distracting her from her grief after the loss of Mrs. Matthew.

When he'd observed the Bateses with their infant son, blissfully happy, he'd been reminded of Anna's attack and how near she had come to something much worse. Mr. Carson shuddered to think what might have happened if he and Mrs. Patmore had not arrived downstairs in time on that awful night. Fortunately, they _had_ arrived in time and had prevented the contemptible man from completing the vile act he'd been attempting. He had detained Mr. Green while Mrs. Patmore summoned help. Mr. Carson managed, with great effort, to restrain Mr. Bates from doing Mr. Green serious harm before the authorities arrived, and the testimonies of the intended victim and two witnesses to the attempted crime had been sufficient to put the reprobate behind bars. Mr. Carson thanked God for Mrs. Hughes's example and her foresight. She had always been protective of her female charges and wary of strange men, and after she left, Mr. Carson had taken that responsibility upon himself, with help from Mrs. Patmore. If the former housekeeper had not emphasized and demonstrated such astute vigilance, a vigilance that the butler and the cook had continued in her absence, Anna and Mr. Bates might be … Well, they might have found themselves in one of many possible dreadful situations, none of which Mr. Carson cared to ponder at all.

Similarly, upon watching Mr. Branson play with young Miss Sybbie, Mr. Carson had been reminded of the nasty business with Edna Braithewaite. Once again, he credited Mrs. Hughes for the favorable outcome of the unpleasant affair. Though he thought Mr. Branson's judgment sorely lacking, he'd been sympathetic and had played his part in ridding the young man of the maid who had been such a nuisance to him. Had it not been for the changes Mrs. Hughes had wrought in Mr. Carson, he certainly would not have been willing to assist Mr. Branson.

After thinking backwards for days, he now tried to think forward to his trip the next day and to his arranged meeting with Mrs. Hughes. He wondered what the morrow would bring, but as he lay in bed, his memory took him backwards once more to one of the last conversations he'd had with Mrs. Hughes, an encounter that occurred just days before her departure.

 _May 1913_

" _I've put out the Rundell candlesticks for dinner tonight," announced Mr. Carson, peering into Mrs. Hughes's sitting room._

 _Mrs. Hughes nodded distractedly. Clearly, she was contemplating something weightier than candlesticks._

 _Not wanting to intrude, he apologized. "Ah. I'm sorry. I'll come back later."_

" _No, stay, please," she implored. "I've got something I'd like to talk to you about … if you've a minute."_

 _He entered and closed the door, and the two sat down across from each other at Mrs. Hughes's small table. Mr. Carson waited for Mrs. Hughes to speak._

" _I don't know whether you'll remember this. We talked about it once, shortly after I arrived, but that was a long time ago, so I'll tell you again." She paused, took a breath, and began her story. "Before I first came here as head housemaid, I was walking out with a farmer. When I told him I'd taken a job at Downton, he asked me to marry him. I was a farmer's daughter from Argyll, so I knew the life. He was very nice. But then I came here and I … I did well, and … I didn't want to give it up, so … I told him no, and he married someone else. She died three years ago. And last month, he wrote, asking to see me again. And I agreed."_

" _Go on," Mr. Carson urged when she paused. He knew most of this, of course. He did remember their conversation from long ago, and he also knew about the recent letter. Because it was normally he who distributed the post, he'd seen the envelope with the man's name on the return address, and he could surmise what was contained in the letter therein. Mrs. Hughes's only other correspondence came from family and friends in Scotland, so this letter certainly attracted the butler's notice. But Mr. Carson allowed Mrs. Hughes to tell him the whole story in her own way and in her own time._

" _I met him the other night," she continued. "We had dinner at the Grantham Arms, and after, he took me to the fair."_

 _Mr. Carson knew this, too. He'd seen Mrs. Hughes leave for the fair, looking quite lovely, and he'd seen her return, looking all "sparkly-eyed," as Thomas had said._

 _Mr. Carson attempted a feeble joke at the other man's expense. "And he was horrible and fat and red-faced, and you couldn't think what you ever saw in him?"_

" _He was still a nice man," said Mrs. Hughes. "He is still a nice man. Well, he was a bit red-faced, and his suit was a little tight, but none of that matters. In the real ways, he hadn't changed."_

" _And he proposed again ... and you accepted?" Mr. Carson conjectured._

" _I was flattered, of course, and in many ways, I wanted to accept … " Mrs. Hughes trailed off without answering the question conclusively._

 _Mr. Carson furrowed his brow, trying to understand. "But you didn't accept? You told him no?"_

" _I haven't told him anything yet, except that I would think about his offer," explained Mrs. Hughes._

" _I see," said Mr. Carson, nodding slowly. "And have you? Thought about his offer, that is."_

" _I've thought of little else. But I've not come to a decision."_

 _Mr. Carson sat back and pondered for a brief time. "I understand. It's not a decision to be made lightly, and you must give it due consideration."_

" _Just so," Mrs. Hughes agreed._

 _The two sat in somber silence for a moment, and then Mrs. Hughes voiced a request. "Erm, Mr. Carson … I'd appreciate it if you keep this just between us until I come to a decision."_

" _Certainly," he promised._

 _At that moment, they were interrupted by Anna, summoning Mrs. Hughes to the kitchen. Mrs. Hughes got up to leave, but before she could follow Anna, Mr. Carson called out to her._

" _Mrs. Hughes – you will keep me informed, I hope?" he asked._

" _Of course," she told him. "You'll be the first to know."_

" _Right. Good. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."_

 _She offered him a small smile and a nod before leaving to deal with Mrs. Patmore and the store cupboard._

 _Three days later, Mrs. Hughes informed Mr. Carson – and then the family and staff – that she would be leaving, citing "personal reasons." Only Mr. Carson knew that those "personal reasons" involved her forthcoming marriage, though others may have suspected. She offered to serve out her notice, but her ladyship, with her typical kindness and sensitivity, allowed the housekeeper to leave only a few days later, after hasty arrangements had been made. No one at Downton had seen or heard from her since._

And now Mr. Carson lay lamenting the tragic irony that had haunted him for so long: the regrettable fact that he he'd fallen in love with Mrs. Hughes only after she left, when her goodness and kindness and beauty were painfully absent. Or perhaps it hadn't been after her departure. Maybe he'd been in love with her all along, but it had taken the bitter poignancy of her absence to make him realize it. He couldn't be sure which was true, but either way, the sad reality of the situation remained: Mrs. Hughes had left to marry another man.

Mr. Carson rolled over, switched on his bedside lamp, withdrew from his nightstand drawer the two letters Mrs. Hughes had sent him, and read them again. He wondered why she'd signed both letters with her maiden name, given that he presumed her to be married. He told himself that the obvious explanation was probably the most reasonable: he'd always known her by that name, and so she'd done it simply to be sure he would recognize her name.

As he read the words again, dozens of questions raced through Mr. Carson's mind. Why had Mrs. Hughes asked to see him after so long? What was this mysterious "favor" she'd mentioned? Would he be able to help her? Would he ever see her again after their meeting tomorrow? Was she still married? Widowed? Divorced? (He thought the last possibility unlikely.) Would her husband be with her at the tea shop? (Mr. Carson hoped not.) But then, would it be proper for him to meet a married woman for tea if her husband were _not_ present? This last question concerned him somewhat, but his desire to see Mrs. Hughes outweighed any misgivings he might have had.

Reasoning that all his wondering would provide him with no solid answers, he sighed heavily. After setting the letters aside and turning off his light, he settled in for a fitful night's slumber.

 **A/N: As you may have guessed, I'm imagining that in Mrs. Hughes's absence, Mr. Carson did all those wonderful things that she did in canon (helping Ethel and little Charlie, reconciling with Charlie Grigg, and helping Mr. Branson get rid of Edna). I even went as far as to pretend that Mr. Carson and Mr. Bates found Anna before Mr. Green did what he did in canon. (So there, Fellowes!) And I took the liberty of inventing a way to make Mr. Carson even better able to help Ethel and Charlie, by "blackmailing" Mr. Bryant.**

 **Thank you for your support throughout this story. Thank you for your patience and for sticking with me. The next chapter (their reunion) is mostly written, so I should be able to post it before too long. I can't promise much after that, however.**

 **I would love to know what you think. Please leave a review if you're able. Thanks in advance.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Thank you for all the reviews for the previous chapter. I'm pleased to know that you haven't given up on me.**

 **Here's the much-anticipated reunion. It should answer all of your questions, or most of them, at least. I hope you think it's worth the wait and it lives up to expectations.**

Mr. Carson sat at the table, waiting impatiently, staring at the door, examining every patron who entered, hoping to see Miss Hughes's familiar face. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she arrived.

His immediate thought on seeing her was how greatly altered she appeared: her frame was much slighter it was than when he'd last seen her; the strands of silver in her hair were more plentiful; her countenance was drawn; the worry lines were etched more deeply into her face; and her naturally light complexion looked distressingly pale. Her clothes were worn and faded, but they were neat and clean. Her appearance concerned him, for it told a story beyond simple aging: it was evidence of struggle and hard times. Underneath it all, however, he could still detect a hint of her strength and determination, and this notion reassured him somewhat.

He rose from his seat as she approached, and she smiled and held out her hands to him. He returned her smile and clasped her hands in his own, squeezing affectionately.

"Mr. Carson," she said. "It's so nice to see you. You look well." Her smile was genuine, but he knew her well enough to detect a sadness and worry hidden beneath the curl of her lips.

"Oh, I'm plodding along, thank you. It's good to see you, too." As much as he would have liked to say so, he couldn't honestly tell her that she looked well, for she looked decidedly _un_ well. Instead, he resorted to polite formality. "Please," he said, gesturing towards the second chair at his table. "Sit down and join me." He pulled the chair out for her and then pushed it back in as she gracefully lowered herself into it. Then he reclaimed his own seat across from her.

"Mrs. – erm, Miss – " he began. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm not sure how I should address you. Your letter said 'Hughes.' Did you really never marry, or did you sign it that way only so that I would be sure to recognize your name?"

"It's still 'Hughes,' Mr. Carson. I never married," she informed him quietly, looking down at her hands.

This news affected him greatly, but he simply said, "I see."

At that moment, a waitress* appeared. She'd approached Mr. Carson earlier, shortly after he arrived, but he'd told her he was waiting for someone. Now, having seen Miss Hughes arrive, the young woman returned. "Sir, I see your companion has arrived. Hello, ma'am," she said, smiling. "Can I bring you both some tea?"

"Yes, please," said Mr. Carson. "And perhaps some scones?" He raised his eyebrows in question and looked to Miss Hughes for approval.

She nodded in agreement, offering a small smile. "That would be lovely. Thank you."

"Certainly. I'll be but a moment," their server informed them before leaving to procure the requested items.

Mr. Carson and Miss Hughes made pleasant small talk for few minutes. Soon, the serving girl brought the tea and scones, then left again to serve other customers. As Mr. Carson and Miss Hughes began to consume their light repast, Mr. Carson shifted the subject and the tone of the conversation. "I understand from your letter that you have something you wish to discuss, and I think it must be a serious matter. You said you're in need of a friend and a favor. I hope you know that I _am_ – _still_ – your friend. Naturally, if this 'favor' you speak of is at all within my means to grant, I shall do it gladly. How can I help you, Miss Hughes?"

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. You're very kind. I'm not sure I deserve such loyalty after I left my post and failed to keep in contact, but there were … extenuating circumstances." She paused, seemingly gathering her thoughts. "Let me start at the beginning. You'll recall that shortly before I left Downton, I was entertaining a marriage proposal." He nodded, and so she continued. "At about the same time, my mother took ill. A neighbor wrote to tell me. That's when I gave my notice. Within a few weeks of my return, my mother died."

"I'm very sorry for your loss," he offered sincerely, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently. "I'd no idea. I assumed you'd left in order to marry." He tried to make sense of it, but he was still confused. "But if you never married, why did you not come back after your mother died? Why did you never even write?"

"I couldn't, Mr. Carson. There's more to the story, you see. I couldn't come back, and I couldn't tell you why. Not then. But I'll tell you now." She took a slow, deep breath before continuing. "I chose to let you believe I left in order to marry, because allowing you to think that was easier than revealing the truth. You see, I had a sister, Becky. She was a lovely soul, but she was … well, she was … not right in the head. She was very pleasant and agreeable, but she was … simple – not able to earn a living or even to be on her own. My mother had always looked after her, but when my mother died … "

Miss Hughes paused, and Mr. Carson guessed the rest. "There was no one but you."

"Precisely. I had three choices. I could have continued working at Downton and paid someone to care for my sister … but I couldn't bear the thought of a stranger looking after her. She would have been miserable. Or I could have left Downton and married my friend the farmer, and Becky could have lived with us. Joe was a kind man. When I told him about Becky, he assured me she would always be welcome in our home. He promised to take care of us both. It was a generous offer, and I was tempted, but in the end, I couldn't accept."

Miss Hughes paused, and Mr. Carson gave her a questioning look.

"It wouldn't have been fair to him," she explained. "I didn't … I didn't love him. Well, I _did_ love him, I suppose, but not in the way that a wife should love her husband. So I told him no, and he _still_ offered to help me. He wasn't a rich man, by any means, but he gave me what money he could spare – _insisted_ I take it – and told me that Becky and I would always be welcome at his farm if we ever needed a place to stay."

"That was quite kind of him," Mr. Carson commented sincerely. "But … if you never came back to work at Downton … and you never married … " Mr. Carson began to piece things together.

"That's right, Mr. Carson. My third choice was to leave Downton, find what odd jobs I could, see to my sister myself, and eke out a living. And that's what I did. I chose to live on a pittance and look after Becky myself. I stayed in Argyll only long enough to pack up our belongings and sell the farm, and then I brought Becky here to London. In a small village, there's not much work to be found for a woman who has someone else to care for, but a big city is different. Here, I was able to find a few jobs here and there, especially during the war, when so many women left their traditional work to take other jobs to support the war effort. At first, I took in laundry and did some mending, but I didn't earn much money doing that. Then I found a job at a dressmaker's shop. I did my sewing in the back room, performing alterations on the dresses, and Becky was able to go to work with me. I kept her busy by asking her to sort buttons and wind thread. But soon, the woman who owned the place closed up shop; she married and moved away. After that, I worked as a cook in a tea room for a time. Becky and I had our quarters above the shop, and the owner was kind enough to let Becky sit with me in the kitchen while I prepared food for the customers. But then, the tea room closed down, too. The owner took pity on me and sent me to her brother, who ran a modest boarding house. Becky and I stayed in a small room in the attics, and I did all the washing – the linens and such – and I cleaned the rooms during the day, when the lodgers were out. Becky was able to be with me while I worked, and she liked to help with the pillowcases. It took her longer to change two cases than it took me to change the bedsheets and clean the entire room, but it didn't matter. But eventually, the owner of the inn died, and his family sold the place. I had difficulty finding a position after that. As you can imagine, to find an occupation that allowed me have my sister with me while I worked … Well, it was a challenge, to say the least. Those situations are scarce, I can tell you. I'd been fortunate up until then, but eventually, my luck ran out. I haven't found another job, and it's been two months. But now my circumstances have changed. Last month, Becky passed away." As she finished her tale, Miss Hughes's eyes welled with tears, and Mr. Carson took both of her hands in his.

"I'm so sorry," he offered solemnly. "I'd no idea whatsoever – about _any_ of this. All this time, you've been … And now you're … " He was on the verge of tears himself.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," said Miss Hughes, smiling sadly. "I'm grateful for your sympathy and for your kind words."

Too uneasy to keep his own hands still, he released her hands. "But why did you never tell me of your situation or … ask me for help? You know I would have done whatever I could. I would have – I could have – " He struggled to articulate everything he was feeling: shock, disbelief, disappointment, sorrow, and he knew not what else.

"That is _precisely_ why I couldn't tell you. You _would_ have done _more_ than you should, and I couldn't ask you to do that. But now I _am_ asking for your help. I've nowhere else to turn. If I keep at it, I _might_ be able to find some work here in London; it will be easier now that Becky's gone. But it won't pay as well as a job in service, and it won't be as secure. And that's why I've asked to speak with you. I wonder if you might know of a situation somewhere. I'm not foolish enough to think that I might step back into the housekeeper's post at Downton, but perhaps you might know of an open position for a housemaid or a lady's maid on one of the nearby estates – or anything at all, really. Even seasonal employment at a house here in London would be most welcome. As you now know, I find myself in rather dire straits at the moment."

Mr. Carson shook his head and chuckled, and Miss Hughes gave him a quizzical look. Lest she think that he was laughing at her plight, he hastened to explain. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes! I'm sorry – I mean _Miss_ Hughes. No, actually, I probably should call you _Mrs._ Hughes once again. You see, you very well _might_ step back into the housekeeper's post at Downton – that is, if you wish. Since you've been gone, we've had a long string of horrible housekeepers. Absolutely atrocious. One was ruthlessly cruel – had the housemaids in tears. Another was kind enough … but wholly incompetent. The next was conniving and deceitful: she falsified records and actually _stole_ from the household accounts! The latest, a flighty young thing, disappeared only last week, without warning or explanation, like a thief in the night, leaving only a note!"

Miss Hughes's eyes were wide with shock. "Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "That's awful!"

"Yes, it _has_ been awful. I'm certain her ladyship would be only too happy to have you back." He squeezed her hand, smiling. "We _all_ would," he added quietly, regarding her most sincerely.

She smiled back at him, relief and gratitude evident in her expression. "Thank you, Mr. Carson. But do you really think it's possible?"

"I'm sure of it," he assured her. "Shall I speak to her ladyship on your behalf?"

"I'm not at all confident that she'll welcome me back so eagerly," worried Miss Hughes.

Mr. Carson dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense. I've no doubt she'll be thrilled. And so will everyone else." Then, in an effort to reassure her, he continued. "I will, of course, use the utmost discretion and be sensitive to your privacy. If you wish to share with Lady Grantham or anyone else the details you've revealed to me, then you may, in future, do so yourself at your own discretion. But it's not my place to do so. You've confided in me, and I don't wish to abuse your trust."

Miss Hughes smiled and looked down at her lap. "I don't know how I can ever thank you, Mr. Carson. This is almost too good to be true. I came here with low expectations, hoping perhaps you might know a family in need of a scullery maid, and I would have leapt at the chance. But this! I never imagined I might step back into my old post."

"Well, _Mrs._ Hughes … some things are simply meant to be," he returned earnestly.

 **A/N *I've read in some sources that A.B.C. tea shops were self-service, but other sources mention waitresses. I'm still not sure what to believe, but I decided to have a waitress serve our couple.**

 **And if this scene reminds you of** _ **The Remains of the Day**_ **… Well, I did sort of hijack the idea a little. (However, you'll notice this one turns out more favorably!)**

 **Please drop me a line to let me know what you think. I'm eager to know whether you all liked this or not.**

 **I'm not sure how soon I'll be able to write future chapters. I have no more written in reserve, only a general idea where we're headed. But I'll promise you once more that I won't abandon this.**


End file.
